The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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DAY-BREAK.
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
DAY-BREAK.
SCENE—THE TOWN.
Now darkness blackens a' the streets;
The rowan e'e nae object meets,
Save yon caul' cawsey lamp,
That has surviv'd the dreary night,
An' lanely beams wi' blinkin' light,
Right desolate and damp.
The rowan e'e nae object meets,
Save yon caul' cawsey lamp,
That has surviv'd the dreary night,
An' lanely beams wi' blinkin' light,
Right desolate and damp.
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Fore-doors an' winnocks still are steeket,
An' cats, wi' silent step, and sleeket,
Watch whare the rattons tirl;
Or met in yards, like squads o' witches,
Rive ither's hair out wi' their clutches,
An' screech wi' eldritch skirl.
An' cats, wi' silent step, and sleeket,
Watch whare the rattons tirl;
Or met in yards, like squads o' witches,
Rive ither's hair out wi' their clutches,
An' screech wi' eldritch skirl.
Now mony a ane, secure frae harm,
Lies row't in blankets snug an' warm,
Amus'd wi' gowden dreams;
While ithers scart their sides an' lugs,
Tormentet wi' infernal bugs,
Thick swarmin' frae the seams.
Lies row't in blankets snug an' warm,
Amus'd wi' gowden dreams;
While ithers scart their sides an' lugs,
Tormentet wi' infernal bugs,
Thick swarmin' frae the seams.
Some sunk amid their kimmers' arms,
Are huggin' matrimonial charms,
In bliss an' rapture deep;
Some turnin', curse the greetin' wight
For skirling a' the live-lang night,
An' keepin' them frae sleep.
Are huggin' matrimonial charms,
In bliss an' rapture deep;
Some turnin', curse the greetin' wight
For skirling a' the live-lang night,
An' keepin' them frae sleep.
Some weary wight, perhaps like me,
Doom'd Poverty's distress to dree,
Misfortune's meagre brither;
Now dauners out beneath the starns,
Wi' plans perplexing still his harns,
To keep his banes thegither.
Doom'd Poverty's distress to dree,
Misfortune's meagre brither;
Now dauners out beneath the starns,
Wi' plans perplexing still his harns,
To keep his banes thegither.
Now lasses start their fires to kin'le,
An' load the chimly wi' a tanle
O' bleezin' coals an' cin'ers;
Syne scowr their stoups an' tankar's clear,
An' glasses dight wi' canny care,
To grace the gentry's dinners.
An' load the chimly wi' a tanle
O' bleezin' coals an' cin'ers;
Syne scowr their stoups an' tankar's clear,
An' glasses dight wi' canny care,
To grace the gentry's dinners.
Wi' clippet feathers, kame an' chirle,
The gamester's cock, frae some aul' burrel,
Proclaims the morning near;
Ilk chiel now frae his hammock jumps,
The floor receives their lang bare stumps,
An' wives an' a's asteer.
The gamester's cock, frae some aul' burrel,
Proclaims the morning near;
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The floor receives their lang bare stumps,
An' wives an' a's asteer.
Now reek rows briskly out the lums;
Loud thro' the street the piper bums,
In Hielan' vigour gay.
Doors, hatches, winnock-brods are steerin';
An' ev'ry ane in short's preparin',
To meet the toils o' day.
Loud thro' the street the piper bums,
In Hielan' vigour gay.
Doors, hatches, winnock-brods are steerin';
An' ev'ry ane in short's preparin',
To meet the toils o' day.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |